


Baby It's Cold Outside

by disheveleddarkness



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 10:37:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8709106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disheveleddarkness/pseuds/disheveleddarkness
Summary: "You deserved better," he mumbled as he held him to his chest, never wanting to let go. For a long while he continued to hold him, hoping Credence could at least find some peace now.





	

Credence didn't know where he was. He didn't particularly care. "No one will find you here, you're safe..." He could hear, lost in the darkness. There was only pain, but... When wasn't he in pain? If not the beatings, then the hunger, always making sure his mother and sisters had all they needed first. 

But he couldn't feel the welts he was accustomed to, and he was too weak to know how hungry he was. There was a tightness in his chest, and the bit of hope that was once in his heart was only surrender now. No more waking, no more life. It was all he wanted. No one else to touch him.

"I'm so sorry."

Jesus sounds an awful lot like Mr. Graves, Credence vaguely thought. Too weary for much more thought, he returned to a deeper sleep.

\---

Credence had been in bed here for weeks, barely hanging onto life, his pulse nearly too faint to feel as Mr. Graves held one of his hands and pressed down on his wrist, to be certain he was still alive.

He should have been in a hospital. But he knew he would be taken by the Magical Congress for research instead of treatment.

Mr. Graves sat in silence for the rest of the evening, as he did every day, watching over the terribly fragile boy. He had accepted Credence was unlikely survived, yet he needed him to wake up at least once so he could tell him about Grindelwald. But Credence had not so much as moved once.

Books on healing magic were stacked on the bedside table. Every morning he went through the spells he thought could help. They seemed to be sustaining him but doing little to help him recover. Maybe it took time.

Time Credence did not have. 

As he leaned in to press a kiss to his cold cheek, slowly Credence's eyes opened -- and he cringed from the touch.

Mr. Graves whispered his name in disbelief. He had a potion rich in important vitamins for this long awaited occasion. He stepped over to collect the glass from a shelf then sat beside Credence, helping him to sit up and arranging pillows.

Credence had looked to him only upon waking. Now he avoided him.

"I need you to drink this. You'll feel better." Mr. Graves said. His words were met with Credence turning his face away without a response.

"I know you're allergic to dragon blood... And most plants... But this is made of vitamins. That's all it really is. Well, with fairie dust, but I don't believe any humans have been allergic to fairie dust. Pets, yes, but not us." Mr. Graves patiently explained. They certainly didn't need another bad reaction to dragon blood.

Credence reached a pale, gray hand out to pull his blanket back up and closed his eyes, ready to go back to sleep.

Mr. Graves knew it was unlike him to ignore what he told him to do. When he'd seen his eyes, beyond the exhaustion they only held deep sorrow and endless misery.

"Credence... Please, listen to me... What happened, that... He wasn't me. Do you remember when I told you about Grindelwald? It's okay if you don't... You've been through a lot. Grindelwald is a very bad man who has hurt a lot of people. Credence, you know I would never hurt you. You must believe me."

When Mr. Graves walked around the bed to look at Credence, tears were slipping down his face.

Seeing him like this was by far worse than anything Grindelwald had done to Mr. Graves.

"Credence..." he breathed out gently, kneeling beside him. Soon the boy began to sob. "Will you let me hold you? Please, trust me again. No one will ever hurt you again. I promise."

Credence hid his face in a pillow and cried harder for a few moments, basking in the despair of knowing he only deserved to suffer. So... Maybe... Mr. Graves had been doing the right thing when he'd done all those terrible things. He was helping him.

"H... Hit me... Mr. Graves," he pleaded among his sobs, "Please... Help me..."

"No. No, no, no." Mr. Graves returned to the other side of the bed and settled beside him, delicately pulling him into his arms.

"I must be corrected," Credence mumbled as Mr. Graves calmed him with rubbing a hand over his shoulders as he held him. 

Mr. Graves' heart sunk when he heard Credence next mutter something about hell. He said softly into his ear, "You're a good boy. Special and pure."

Then Credence was silent, lightly shivering but finding a bit of comfort in the embrace he'd always craved. This was a good place to die.

"I need you to drink that potion." Mr. Graves said after a while.

A few minutes later, Credence answered, "Let me go."

And so Mr. Graves reluctantly released his hold on him and sat up.

Credence repeated himself. "Let me go."

Mr. Graves gave some more thought to his words, and they sunk into his heart like a knife. "You want to die."

"I want to die."

Mr. Graves wiped away his tears; he had to be strong for Credence. "I can help you try to recover." he said gently. "And I can show you life is not always bleak and painful. We can be happy together."

"I want to die."

"Then I will keep you as comfortable as I can." Mr. Graves vowed and pressed a slow kiss to Credence's dry lips. He thought perhaps a hint of a smile lifted them for a moment. He stroked a hand over Credence's face and got out of bed to bring back a warm washcloth to clean his face of tears.

As Credence relaxed under his hands, he wondered how much time they had left together. Only God knew that. Credence didn't want any more magic to sustain him. He just wanted a death easier than his life had been.

"Do you feel like you can eat anything?" Mr. Graves asked.

"Maybe." he answered, beginning to realize how much his stomach hurt. If he wasn't so weary he would have smiled as Mr. Graves easily scooped him up and carried him downstairs to lay him on the couch so he would be nearby as he made him some soup.

He watched in awe as Mr. Graves cast a spell that ignited the grand fireplace. 

Then when Mr. Graves noticed Credence inquisitively looking over at a record player, he asked, "Do you like Christmas music, Credence?"

"No."

"Oh. I figured you would."

"Mother doesn't allow holidays." Credence explained.

"So you're like Jehovah Witnesses?"

"Maybe."

"Well, you can listen to winter themed secular songs, can't you?" Mr. Graves asked as he went to look through his records.

"Maybe." Credence said since he didn't know the word secular. He quietly watched Mr. Graves take a record out of a sleeve, set it on the player, and move the needle across and down onto the sleek surface.

(I really can't stay) But, baby, it's cold outside  
(I've got to go away) But, baby, it's cold outside  
(This evening has been) Been hoping that you'd drop in  
(So very nice) I'll hold your hands they're just like ice

Credence smiled softly, watching the crackling fire and listening to the nice song as Mr. Graves stepped into the kitchen.

(My mother will start to worry) Beautiful, what's your hurry  
(My father will be pacing the floor) Listen to the fireplace roar  
(So really I'd better scurry) Beautiful, please don't hurry  
(Well, maybe just half a drink more) Put some records on while I pour

Credence's smile faded, his weak heart quickening with panic. Mother... His hands trembled and tears began to blur his vision. He stayed quiet as long as he could, not wishing to disturb Mr. Graves, but once the lyrics reached "(My sister will be suspicious) Gosh your lips look delicious," he could take it no longer and broke down sobbing.  
Mr. Graves, absolutely bewildered, rushed back to him and knelt down to lay a hand on his face and ask, "What's wrong?!"

"I don't... Like the song, Mr. Graves... I'm sorry..."

Mr. Graves sighed and smoothed down Credence's hair. "Okay... I'll turn it off. I'm sorry, dear."

After he ended the music, Mr. Graves remained there with Credence until he was calm again. He pressed kisses onto his hands then down his neck. When he was certain he was okay, he returned to the kitchen.

"Wake up, baby," he said ten minutes later, setting a tea set in the coffee table and helping Credence sit up to eat his soup, an arm around his thin waist.

Credence leaned against him, slowly eating his soup and shaking his head when Mr. Graves asked if it was too hot.

When fresh tears began to line his eyes, Credence noticed Mr. Graves furrowing his brows in concern. Credence whispered in explanation, "You're being so kind to me."

"Oh, Credence..." A compliment like that shouldn't hurt so much, but it only made him think of how much misery Credence knew. 

After soup and tea he carried Credence back to bed. An easy feat because he was very underweight. He offered to prepare Credence a bath, but he shook his head, far too exhausted. "I'm tired."

"I know you are." He gave him a kiss and straightened the covers. "Get some rest, my dear."

It didn't take Credence long to fall asleep again, this time laying on his side and holding onto Mr. Graves' arm, who stayed awake long into the night so as to not miss a moment of holding Credence. At one point he heard a frail, "I forgive you."

When he awoke, it was with a sense of immense dread. That was how he knew Credence was dead before he checked his pulse.

"You deserved better," he mumbled as he held him to his chest, never wanting to let go. For a long while he continued to hold him, hoping Credence could at least find some peace now.

The loss left his heart in pieces he knew would never meant. Credence had been so young...

Mr. Graves tried to remind himself this was what Credence wanted.

Often he would go to the grave he'd made him, casting spells to revive the wilting flowers. Like Credence, they were meant for death.

"It was many and many a year ago,  
In a kingdom by the sea,  
That a maiden there lived whom you may know  
By the name of Annabel Lee;  
And this maiden she lived with no other thought  
Than to love and be loved by me. "

Sometimes he found himself reading at the grave to him. He'd done so once when Credence had been alive, and there had been an impression he had enjoyed it.

"Because I could not stop for Death –  
He kindly stopped for me -  
The Carriage held but just Ourselves-  
And Immortality..."

A few months after his death, Mr. Graves was grateful to be with him in a dream, hoping he would remember it all. 

Unfortunately Credence looked just as sorrowful and fragile as ever.

"Credence... Tell me what's wrong." How could he still be so unhappy when no one could harm him now? "You're free... What's wrong, darling?"

Credence said with his face pressed into Mr. Graves' neck as they held onto each other, "I miss you."

Mr. Graves pulled back from him, bringing his hands gently to his face. He brushed his lips over his then stated, "I love you."

Credence was silent, wet eyes wider.

"You don't have to repeat it." Mr. Graves assured him, regretting making him uncomfortable. "I'm terribly sorry." He thought on how Credence probably didn't know what love was supposed to be. So he began to explain himself, "It means I like you. That I care for you, and there's nothing I wouldn't do for you if it could make you feel happy or safe. That there's no where else I would rather be than with you."

"I love you, Mr. Graves."


End file.
